Ghosts of Alderaan
by Rhysati Ynr
Summary: An ARC fell in love with a Jedi during the Clone Wars. She left him for his best friend. Years later, he hears that she's been killed. This is just a little exploration of their relationship. One shot, of course. Please R&R if you wish.


Ghosts of Alderaan

**Author's note and disclaimer: **This is a little character relationship exploration, something I came up with whilst I was bored one evening. Depression kicked in and I fancied writing something that's a little mellower. Anyway, star wars does not belong to me. It belongs to the brilliant mind that is George Lucas. However, the characters contained within this work are all pigments of my imagination! So please, no stealing. Anyway, please read and review. :)

The speckled, matte black starscape yawned with the contracted pin-points of a spaceship leaving hyperspace, and then reverted back to its original blanket as a battered freighter entered the mine field that had once been the beautiful world of Alderaan. Small fragments of rock peppered against her shields as she dropped into the gravity well that remained after the planet's implosion, gently tapping her like grains of sand caught in a summer's breeze. The larger debris stayed away for now, slowly floating across the expanse of lifeless void as icebergs of physical memories from the deadly Death Star ray.

Although he had not been there, the pilot of the ship had watched the planet's destruction over and over again on the holonet. With each viewing he felt that he could almost _sense_ each life being ripped from existence; threads of a bigger tapestry being torn apart so quickly that a gaping hole was left in the fabric of the galaxy. That was what the Death Star had done to the planet of Alderaan, and only later would it finally pay for all of those innocent lives that it had slain. Oh how he had longed to be Luke Skywalker on that day: to have his fingers around the grip of the trigger as those proton torpedoes went soaring into the heart of the sinister space station and blew it up from the inside out.

He didn't wish for this because he had lost relatives that had been from that slain world, but because he had once served the government that had commissioned its building. Without conscious thought, the pilot felt his hand clench into a tight fist, although he was not aware of the pain that the motion caused until his gauntlet began to cut into his fingers and palm. It hurt worse than it normally would have, because he finally had his own beskar'gam. Looking up into the expanse of the destroyed world before him, he felt uneasy and removed the helmet from off of his head. His training sergeant had always taught him that many beings saw it as a sign of courtesy and politeness. It had suddenly become a habit of his, especially of late.

"Buir?" A call came from behind him that caused a sad smile to etch its way onto his battle-hardened face. "I thought we were headed back home?"

Ex-Alpha ARC Trooper 036 turned around in his piloting chair to face the young, Zabrak boy that was standing in the doorway. Buir, the Mandalorian word for "father" as the boy always called him. Although they weren't related by blood in the slightest possible way, adoption in the Mandalorian culture was as common as having biological children. 036 was proud to call the boy his son. A more cheerful smile spread onto his face as he looked the Zabrak up and down. Not a boy anymore, he reminded himself, he was a man; even if he was a young one at that. He was only twenty-two standard years of age, and whereas most men of that age would have spread their wings to galaxy hop across the stars, he had stayed with his old man for all these years.

"We will be soon, Cop'ika. I just had to visit this place to say some...goodbyes."

Copad Skirata frowned at his father for a moment in confusion, and then his brain quickly computed the link between this world and the Ex-ARC. He was a smart lad. His face contorted into something that was much more sincere and sympathetic, his dark brown eyes reflecting his own sorrow on the subject. "You're taking her death harder than you're letting on, Buir."

Too observant and blunt were another couple of adjectives that could be used to describe 036 - Thrix's - son. He bit his lip, then cursed himself mentally for showing such an obvious sign of weakness. He had been trained to try and hide his emotions, but right now and in his present company, he couldn't stop himself. How else was he supposed to feel at this current moment? The love of his life had been taken away from him for good, or so that Holonet broadcast had described. She had died alone, died during a battle against a horde of Dark Jedi where she was hopelessly outnumbered.

He was angry at her and saddened all in one instance, and he found himself to be leaning forwards with a hand covering his open mouth; one that had dropped in a wordless and silent scream. He wanted to cry, but his body was just unable to produce the tears to complete the action. His son hurried over to him, crouching down in front of him and placing his hands on his father's trembling shoulders. He was strong in his own right, but he looked like he was also on the edge of a break down at seeing how crippled his Buir had become after the devastating news.

"She was doing what she was born to do, Buir," Copad whispered quietly in reassurance, though it seemed like he was having a hard time believing his own words. "She's a Jedi. She'll be at one with the Force...or whatever they believe in."

Yes, the Force had his one true love: but oh how badly he wanted her back. They had broken apart half way through the Clone Wars due to the pressure of their careers, but he knew that they had never stopped caring for each other. She had certainly proved that just a few years later after they were reunited for the first time. Although the encounter had been illicit and immoral, it had been a sign of closure between them. After all, she had married and had children with a man who he considered to be a brother. If anyone was to be with her until she had finally gone, he was glad that it was a man like him. It just ached all the more that he hadn't been there to protect her. Maybe none of this would have happened if he had been!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to look into his son's eyes. He couldn't have the young Zabrak seeing him so fragile and breakable; even though he trusted him to keep his weakness a secret. He gripped his son's hand tightly, as he had done when he had only been a young boy and squeezed it tightly as he carefully formed his words, "Yes, you're right. I know you are..."

Copad reversed the way that his father was holding his hand, and then pulled back his fingers so that they were clenched into a fist, both of their knuckles gently pressing together. It was their old handshake, one that the ARC had had with his love and then passed down onto his son. He stood back up at that point, shaking out his leg muscles slightly to rid himself of any signs of cramp.

"Take all the time that you need, Buir. I'll be out the back replacing the batteries in the gun turrets," the young Zabrak told him with a soft smile on his face. He raised two fingers to his horned forehead and tossed him a casual salute, then spun on his heel as he turned and marched swiftly out of the cock-pit.

Thrix watched him leave, and then rose from his chair and went to stand closer towards the main viewport where he could get a better view of the asteroid field around them. He had come to this desolate and barren starscape to bid his farewells to someone who he held dear, someone who hadn't been taken away by Alderaan's destruction but who had lost a large chunk of her soul when it had gone. It had been the same with all of the surviving Alderaanians, or so he'd heard.

It was therefore a tradition that friends and families of those that had been lost would come and lay memorials to their loved ones. The ex-ARC hadn't been that prepared after hearing of her loss, all he had done was plot a course for this place and set off on his way. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how; but something inside of his mind had told him that in doing this, he would finally be able to put some old ghosts to rest. He may have had no gift for her, but he did have words.

"Suc'uy, cyar'ika," he began and felt the words begin to clog up in his throat. He looked down at the metallic floor in-between his boots for a moment, and then built up the courage to look back out at the lolling rocks before him. "Sorry I missed you. Looks like I was too late, again."

Tears rolled down his cheeks at that moment, and he had to cover the bottom half of his face with the palm of his hand once more. "I...I don't really know why I'm here. It was one of those...instinct things that you always used to go on about, I guess." His eyes began to pan across the starscape, as if he was searching for a sign of her being there. "Were you dropping me a hint? Because...if you're here...right now, just give me a sign. Anything, even if it's a smack to my buy'ce."

He paused, but nothing happened. His heart shattered into even more fragments, and it took all of his physical strength to grip the edge of the flight console and keep himself up-right. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the salty taste from his tears dropping down onto his tongue. Still, he managed to find words that he seemed to be able to produce, "Well, that's kandosii. It doesn't matter, I know that you wouldn't miss out on seeing me crying, would you?"

There was yet more silence in answer to his question, but the air seemed to grow warm around him; light, fragrant and full of love that had always been there but unable to be voiced over their years of separation. 'Lek, she was there, and she was returning his feelings in the only way that she could. He relished in the comfort of her ghostly embrace, knowing that the experience could all have been a pigment of his imagination, but trusting in the Force that it was real.

"Vor'e, Len'ika," he muttered, releasing his hold on the flight console and rising to his full height. He squared his shoulders and felt an affectionate smile fall onto his expression. "Thank you, thank you for everything that you've ever given me. I love you, don't you ever forget that." He reached out to grab the hyperspace levers that were close to his right hand side. The course to Mandalore was plotted and awaiting the go ahead to engage. "May the Force be with you always, Lena Arano."

Thrix Skirata pushed the 'levers full forwards and shot their battered ship off into the swirling dashes of hyperspace. The instinct that he had felt had offered him the chance to bury some of those fears of the things that he should have said, but never got the chance to. He left the cock-pit at that moment, heading off to go and find his son.

Yes, they had all been laid to rest: just like the ghosts of Alderaan.


End file.
